Consequences
by Frost on Maples
Summary: A tag for the episode "Fight Like a Dove".


This is a tag for the episode "Fight Like a Dove", and takes place sometime between the episodes "Sins of the Past" and "Fallen Angel". I've always felt that 1980's episodic TV writing left too many loose ends - Faye seemed too competent to deserve to vanish after the pilot. Also, there should be a reason why Sarah was never heard from again, and why Horn, the DOD and others never went after the one person who did figure out where Airwolf's lair was.

Some people may notice that this is a revamped version of my very first fic, "Broken Promises". Long after I published it, I became dissatisfied with it due to my having forgotten one (to me) important detail (as well as needing to get the page breaks to work!). In my efforts to get my writing groove back, I decided to revisit this and make it more to my current standards. Hey, if Mr. Lucas can do it with his sandbox...

 **Consequences**

It had been a busy morning, and the mountain of paperwork was barely dented. Archangel looked up with thinly disguised relief when Marella quietly tapped on his door. "Come in," he said, moving a folder to the outbox.

She hesitated slightly before closing the door behind her. "Sir, I have the reports you asked for on the current status of Limbawe, and the followup risk assessment of DG Bogard is in this top folder," she said, adding to the pile in front of him. "Time, co-ordinates and refuelling has been arranged for agent Titania's extraction, and I've arranged for a car for you to go to Santini Air for Hawke's briefing after lunch."

"I hadn't planned to do the briefing in person this time," he reminded her, eyebrow raised. "It's a fairly routine pickup, with no complications expected beyond dodging the East German airforce. It's nothing you couldn't handle." His eye narrowed as he saw the way she nervously fingered the last folder in her grasp. "What is it, Marella?"

"I have the report from Zebra Squad's mission to Peru." She handed it to him, her expression unreadable. "I thought you would like to tell him personally."

With trepidation, he flipped the folder open and read the dry, cold words on the page. It was mercilessly brief and to the point. When he finished, he closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Raising his head, he carefully schooled his expression into its habitual cool gentility and nodded to Marella. "You're right. However, arrange for the car immediately. We're skipping lunch, and we have a stop on the way to Santini Air."

XXXXXXXX

"I think that's got her ready for tomorrow, Dom," Stringfellow Hawke announced as he walked into the office of Santini Air.

Dominic Santini waved a hand in acknowledgement as he listened to a client on the phone and scribbled on the calendar in front of him, frowning thoughtfully as he listened to the babble. "Yeah, right. When will you... sure, sure. I'll need to know before we talk price... I want specifics. It might seem just like the last shoot, but the last time you said that, I got burned for a thousand bucks! You do that!" He slammed down the receiver, shaking his head. "These Hollywood types will be the death of me, I swear!"

"And you love doing the stunts for them," Hawke teased him. "And they pay better than just about anything else out there."

"When they're not trying to get everything for nothing...!" Santini broke off his tirade as Hawke frowned and tilted his head, listening. "What is it?"

"A car coming this way," Hawke muttered. "You expecting someone?"

"Nope." Santini looked out the window and muttered some colourful Italian phrases. "I knew this lull was too good to be true. Mr. Clean in his fancy white car is coming this way. Good thing Cait's off on that charter, I don't even want to think about trying to explain him to Miss Nosy." He rolled his eyes. "He better not expect me to drop everything to go haring off and muck up that job tomorrow."

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Archangel said as he limped in. Marella followed him in with a frequency scanner and swiftly checked the room before its occupants could protest.

"We do check the place for bugs ourselves pretty often," Dom grumbled at her. "It's not like we're beginners at this."

"Humour me on this, please," Archangel said. "There have been rumours lately, and I prefer to err on the side of caution."

"What kind of rumours?" Hawke asked, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing definite yet, but new players in the Game can mean new methods, and new rules. But that is not why we are here today." Archangel nodded to Marella, who promptly pulled a file out of her briefcase. "I need to enlist your services with Airwolf, gentlemen. One of our agents in East Germany needs to be brought back Stateside three days from now, and it's a scenario that requires your touch." He nodded to Marella to proceed with the briefing, allowing him to watch the two men as she spoke. Santini, as usual, blustered and complained while Hawke watched quietly, coolly assessing the assignment details before tersely nodding in agreement to the request.

Hawke picked up the folder and eyed its contents before turning to Archangel. "So. What else brought you here, Michael? Marella could have done this by herself. Hell, you could have done this by phone and the communications gear in Airwolf." His eyes narrowed again as he glared at the spy. "If you have something else to say, say it."

Archangel smiled grimly - trust Hawke to see to the heart of the matter and cut to the core. He started to pace restlessly, momentarily at a loss for words until he stopped beside Marella. "I have some bad news, and I figure it's better you hear it from me rather than on the news or as a rumour." He finally faced both of them solemnly. "I received a report this morning that Sarah Lebow was killed yesterday."

"Are you sure?" Dom demanded, sorrow creasing his face. "There could be a mistake, couldn't there?"

Archangel gently shook his head. "No mistake. It was definitely confirmed by multiple sources."

Hawke's expression had remained frozen, but grief shone in his eyes. "What happened?"

Archangel cleared his throat nervously. "She was working from some of her father's notes, and had deduced the location of another Nazi war criminal after hearing rumours of his activities in Peru. She went to apprehend him, but his arms dealer associates took exception to her efforts. She was captured by them, and, when it was clear that there was no escape, she preferred to grab a grenade from a guard and kill all of them along with herself rather than allow them to...amuse themselves." He sighed and looked down, tapping the floor with his cane. "I'm sorry to bring you this news, but I knew you would want to know."

Hawke stared blindly at him, grief mercilessly bringing back a memory...

XXXXXXXX

 _Archangel, Marella and Dom had already left, but Sarah had stayed behind to talk and finish the bottle of wine with him. She looked up at him, her teasing, rueful smile inviting him to join her._

 _"You know, it would make it much easier to continue my father's work if I could call you up once in a while."_

 _"You know that there is no way I could possibly do that. This was a lucky one-off for you."_

 _"I understand. Archangel has much more to offer than I ever could," she sighed, then flashed her dazzling smile again. "A pity. I would love to go on a hunt with you again." A wink. "And Airwolf is so much more convincing than I am."_

 _"Even if it didn't interfere directly with Archangel's work, the Committee would consider my agreement with them void if I started working with you. Sorry, from now on, you're on your own." He eyed her seriously. "Do your research and hire a bounty hunter. You got lucky this time - don't think it'll be so easy the next time."_

 _"Then I'll just have to dream about what it would have been like to have you at my back, won't I?" Her face turned serious. "Don't worry about me, Hawk. I know what I'm doing."_

XXXXX

"They would have tortured her?" Dom asked, face wrinkled with grief. "Why?"

"The 'why' I want to know is why we weren't sent in to help her," String snarled at Michael. "Was she not important enough because she wasn't one of your operatives, or was it a convenient way to eliminate someone who knew too much?"

Before Michael could respond, Marella stepped between them, her normally serene face full of icy rage.

"That's enough!" she snapped.

"Marella, don't -"

She wheeled around to face down Michael with a glare. "I've had enough of this. These two blame you for everything they can, up to and including a rainy day when they feel like it. Enough is enough."

She turned back to face Hawke again, and the fury in her eyes was such that he shifted his weight back: not enough for a retreat, no, never a retreat for Hawke, with all his prickly pride, but still... a shift.

"You want to know why we didn't send you in to the rescue?" Her voice was cold and silken in its rage. "That bloody monster you fly is _expensive_ to run. When we send you on a mission for the Firm, the agency has the connections and the money to have your fuel and ammunition paid for and waiting for you." Her lip curled with contempt as she continued. "When you decide to take off on your own personal matters and blow up a building in Central America in full view of hundreds of people in broad daylight: that's very different."

"What're you talking about?" Hawke's voice was still hard, but a shadow of guilt flicked across his face.

"We carefully siphon off small amounts each time the Committee assigns a mission to our division, so we have a reserve of funds to cover the costs of incidents like your business in San Remo, your escapade in Pope County, and your little contract on the side for Carter Anderson." Marella's smile was sharp and bitter, merely a baring of teeth as her words cut deeply. "And while the Committee was aware of your dealings with General Sandhower and retroactively covered the expenses, we...encouraged certain people to ensure that Eddie Donahough's name is nowhere in the reports. The Committee is also currently unaware of your new employee Caitlin O'Shaughnessy and the manner in which you met her. It's safer Eddie and Caitlin and a lot of other people if Zeus doesn't about them at this particular time."

"After your jaunts to San Remo, I had to strip our 'quiet fund' down to the last dollar: it was already critically low. It isn't cheap to bribe a production company to change locations so there's multiple black helicopters in the area shooting an action movie for the next couple of weeks. I gave an operative of ours in the area funding to hire a local charter company for a 'photo shoot', after paying for a black paint job for their choppers. And I called in favours owed at three different agencies to route their helicopter flights to fly over or near that area." Her smile didn't lose its edge as she continued."The best way to hide a black helicopter is to have it be one of many. The only problem with that is that it's very expensive camouflage."

"With all of our 'quiet fund' already depleted, we were forced to rely on official channels. Zeus and the rest of the committee decided that Zebra squad would be enough." Her voice trailed off, her anger spent, leaving bleak sorrow. "You know Airwolf's ammunition and fuel were almost totally depleted, nowhere near enough for a flight to South America, never mind a potential fight. There was no way for us to get enough resources together soon enough to send you in time."

Silence reigned as Marella fell silent, eyes downcast. Michael watched Dominic, his own face quivering with guilt and grief, reach out to gently clasp Hawke's slumped shoulder as the man bowed his head, eyes closed. Hawke's knuckles showed white as his hands clenched into fists, and he took a deep breath. For one brief second, he leaned into his step-father's hand, before his iron control established itself.

Hawke cleared his throat abruptly as he raised his head, his face a careful mask. "Excuse me, I've a few things to get ready for tomorrow's job." He moved slowly, deliberately towards the door, a weight bowing his shoulders into a slump. As he reached the door, he stopped. Over his shoulder, he asked, "Did she suffer?"

Archangel's gaze was locked on the ground as he shook his head. "No. She didn't suffer." Sour irony made his stomach churn, and he prayed that Hawke wouldn't press for more. Hawke eyed him for a few seconds, nodded and then fled - everyone sighed as the door to the jeep slammed and its tires squealed with acceleration.

"Well. That's that," Michael sighed, rubbing the tension knot in his temple. "I'll be in touch, Dominic..." He moved a few steps to the door, away from grief...

"There's more, isn't there?" Dom's voice was flat, stopping his and Marella's escape. "It wasn't just that Sarah picked the wrong time to go after that guy, was it?" Marella looked to him, mutely asking her cue as he paused, undecided. "You know, he may be willing to accept what you said at face value, but I'm not." His voice softened, pleading. "This is also my fault. This one time, tell me the whole story."

Archangel stopped, torn between integrity and a need to flee. Integrity won. "Very well. This is against my better judgement, but..." He slowly walked back to the chair and seated himself, Marella taking a seat next to him. "You're right, there is more to the story." He stroked his moustache as he organized his thoughts. "Have you ever heard of a man named Ernst Steindorff?"

"No."

"That's not surprising. He was the Nazi war-criminal Sarah was tracking, although he was relatively minor compared to Kruger and some of the other criminals her father had arrested. After his escape from the Allies after the war, he went underground in South America, eventually ending up in Peru. All of our records (and lack thereof) indicate that he lived quietly and had no interest in participating in the current world, including criminal activities. It was extremely out of character for him to be associating with any form of criminal activity, never mind host weapons dealers."

"But you said..."

"It was only in the past three months that he suddenly started to keep company with some people of the criminal persuasion. One of my operatives noticed the activities a month ago, reported it to me, and was keeping an eye on things for us until there was enough evidence for us to move in. What made this development especially interesting was when our agent reported that one of the major organizers of all this was a man named Harold Minter."

"Who's Minter?" Dom asked, brow creased in confusion.

"Minter was the right-hand man of Helmut Kruger," Archangel explained. Dom's eyes widened in comprehension as he continued. "Obviously, Minter escaped when Sarah captured Kruger, and went into business on his own. Most of the would-be purchasers were from the same organizations Kruger dealt with. However, Minter wasn't just selling guns." Archangel rose to his feet again, and started to pace again. "He was offering information on Airwolf."

"But... what could he know?" Dom sputtered. "Kruger didn't know anything about the Lady except what you told him, and that wasn't enough to help him. What could this Minter know?"

"Exactly. My agent was in place and trying to find out what, if anything, he knew. Then, four days ago, I received a call from Sarah..."

XXXXXXXX

 **Four Days Earlier**

"Good afternoon, Michael."

"Who is this and how did you get this number?" Archangel demanded. The number in question was the line reserved for emergencies, and he didn't appreciate dropping everything for a cry of wolf.

"Why, Michael, I'm crushed. My voice is so distinctive. Maybe I shouldn't have shot your ear."

"Sarah!?" He rolled his eyes. "I suppose there's no sense in asking where you got this number."

She laughed. "And give up one of my trade secrets?"

He sighed. "You do realize that Marella will have to change this line's number again after this?" She laughed again. "Why have you decided to honour me with a phone call today?"

Her voice turned serious. "I wanted to ask for your help. I have found another war criminal and would like some assistance in bringing him in. His name is Ernst Steindorff, and he's dealing in arms in Peru."

"Yes, I know." He smiled at her sudden surprised silence. "We've had him under surveillance for the past month. I was wanting to find out a little more about his sources and the full extent of his dealings before dealing with him."

"Rumour has it that he is also offering information on Airwolf," she countered.

"Yes, apparently one of his new associates knows of it through having worked for Kruger." He heard her breath hiss through her teeth at the mention of her father's killer. "I want to know more about these people and what they know. Something doesn't feel right about this."

"The potential buyers are arriving tomorrow. We can't wait much longer - if a deal is reached quickly, the information will be in the wrong hands, and Steindorff will disappear." The line crackled, and her voice became more distant. "My source said that the information includes where to find Airwolf."

"I hadn't heard that," he admitted. He paused for a minute, thinking. "Give me three days to get the clearances and the team organized. I'll contact you when I have everything ready. Where are you?"

"Lima," she said with a chuckle.

"For god's sake, Sarah, wait until I get the team there. Don't go in there without backup!" he warned her.

"I'm just going to keep an eye on him. I won't do anything unless it looks like he's making a break for it," she assured him, the Lebow arrogance in fine form. "I know what I'm doing."

XXXXXXXX

 **Three Days Later**

It had been quiet for about an hour now. Faye strode firmly down the hallway, clipboard in hand, not a hair out of place. _I have every right to be here, nothing wrong with ignoring me as I walk past_ , she thought as she met a guard. A cold trickle of sweat ran down her back as he eyed her, but he said nothing, accustomed to her presence at unusual hours - most of the staff pitied her for the mercilessly unpredictable schedule she was forced to keep. This was not the first time she had been sent on an errand at two o'clock in the morning, and this wasn't the first time she gave silent thanks for the eccentric habits of her Armenian "employer" - no one would think to confirm that she was actually on an errand for him until hopefully too late.

She calmly strolled around the corner, out of sight of the guard, and continued down the hallway, this time acutely aware of the security camera at the end of the hall. She silently sighed in relief as she walked past - her earlier work was paying off, it didn't swivel to follow her progress down the hall, and there wasn't another one in sight. Quickly, she leaned back against the wall behind the camera, got as close as possible and aimed her "pen" at it. The powerful electromagnet should, in theory, permanently disrupt the transmitter in the camera. With any luck, security would decide that the camera had finally given up the ghost, since it was already malfunctioning to the point of not swivelling. She took a quick look around her, confirming the peace, before briskly stepping to a nearby door - she hated to trust to luck, even when improvisation left no alternative.

It was a small room, bare except for a few chairs and a glass wall. Beyond the glass wall was a modern-day chamber of horrors, including a breathing victim. Calmly, Faye reached under her jacket and pulled out a suction-cup handle and a glass cutter. Moving smoothly from years of practice, she attached the handle, scored a large opening in the glass, pulled it quietly with a twist of her wrist into the room and set the large glass sheet on the floor. She slipped silently into the room to the victim, cautiously placing a silencing hand over her mouth as she gently nudged her. "Miss Lebow," she hissed. "Wake up. Sarah!"

Eyelids fluttered, slowly cracked open. "Who...?"

"Call me Faye. I'm here to get you out. Archangel sent me," Faye whispered as she wrestled with the straps holding Sarah to the table. Looking around, she spotted a lab coat left draped over a chair in a corner. "Here, pull this on, and then we'll get out of here." The coat was mercifully long, hiding the ruined clothing and blood, and providing a layer of warmth as Sarah started to shiver from shock. Faye pulled an arm over her shoulder, led her over to the hole in the glass and gently pushed her through. "Sit down for a minute. Let me clean you up a bit," she said, manoevering Sarah to sit in one of the chairs as she pulled a small first aid kit and a tiny syringe of demerol out of her jacket pocket. The kit didn't have much more than saniwipes and bandaids, but it was enough for Faye to clean and tape the worst of the damage to Sarah's face, and the demerol would check the pain enough to keep her mobile.

"Archangel sent you?" Sarah slurred. "I thought he said he couldn't have anyone here until tomorrow."

"The assault squad can't come until then, I was already here." Faye's composure slipped for a minute, and her frustration flashed across her face. "I've had to improvise all of this. You didn't give me much to work with."

"I'll remember to tell Minter and his friends that they've been very inconsiderate," Sarah said, wincing as her efforts at first aid jostled another cut. "How long... since they brought me here?"

"About ten hours." Faye gently wiped the last of the visible wounds. "That will have to do until we can get to a real first-aid kit. Rest for a minute - our distraction should begin in about -" she checked her watch, "two minutes." She sat down, eyeing Sarah intently. "Why didn't you wait?"

"I was waiting. All I did was watch them, I wasn't going to try to do anything on my own. Whatever Archangel may believe of me, I'm not so overzealous or stupid that I would think to try to take on something this big alone." Sarah closed her eyes, and hung her head. "I was keeping a careful distance, and made no contact with anyone. They must have had locals paid to watch for me." She opened her eyes, and looked Faye square in the eye. "It was a trap. Everything from the very beginning was planned by Minter as a trap for me. Steindorff was forced into all of this by Minter, all of the rumours were started by him, everything."

"All of this was for revenge?"

"Revenge is the icing on the cake." Sarah shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the bruises and cuts into more comfortable positions. "He figured from the encounter I had with Kruger that there was a very good chance I knew where to find Airwolf. He contacted all of Kruger's old associates and set up the deal, spreading the rumours on the way, knowing that I would eventually hear. He sold me and my knowledge to the highest bidder, with the stipulation that he get to watch the resulting... interview." She stopped as her voice cracked, a tear trickling down her cheek. "All of this was to capture me for my information on Airwolf. They didn't get that information. Tell Hawke he's safe."

"You'll be able to tell him yourself," Faye said, watching her watch. There was a sudden muffled boom, the floor shook, and the lights went out. "Fuel dumps can provide a very nice distraction in situations like this." Another explosion, followed by alarms. "An oxygen tank explosion in a lab helps too. Come with me."

Their progress was slower than Faye would have preferred, but she had planned for that. With all of the confusion, the airfield would be the last thing on peoples' minds, and she had carefully arranged for her "employer's" plane to be first in line for takeoff, supposedly for the next morning. It was only a small Lear, but it would do the trick, and it would be easier than the aircraft carrier takeoff she'd done almost a year ago.

Everything went smoothly until they got to the final exit from the building. The shot of demerol allowed Sarah to keep up to her and maintain the appearance of a panicky lab tech caught in who-knows-what being helped by her colleague to navigate through the chaos of the building evacuation. As they moved to the final door, a guard called out, "Hold it!" Faye tried to ignore it, but he followed up with, "You two. Stop."

"Dammit," Faye hissed under her breath. Just her luck to come across the one guard in the building professional enough to continue to do his job in all the confusion. She carefully schooled her face into a polite-but-frantic expression as she turned with Sarah to face him. "What's the problem?"

"This isn't one of the designated evacuation exits. You'll have to go to the next wing."

"Look, we just want to get out as soon as we can. She was hurt in the explosion - I don't want to be next, and who knows what else is going to blow up?" Faye worked hard on injecting the fine edge of almost-panic. "We'll just walk around the outside and join the others, it's no big deal." She dragged Sarah another step towards the door, incidentally placing her between Faye and the security camera.

"That's far enough..." The man suddenly sagged to the ground, with red blossoming at the base of his throat, above the protective vest. Sarah stared as Faye tucked the small air pistol back in her pocket calmly.

"Yes, it was necessary." Faye anticipated the question, then shut up as Sarah shrugged and started to rummage through the man's weapons, pocketing his pistol and the two grenades on his belt. "Come on," she said. "We're too close to go back or come up with another plan, and every second counts. Move it!" The airfield was in sight, and she started to run, wanting to get the hell out of this hellhole...

"Leaving already, ladies?" Two burly forms stepped into their path, and behind them the voice had been accompanied by the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. Faye stopped dead in her tracks, trying to keep Sarah behind her as she spun to face the more dangerous of the threats. More guards came into sight as she glared helplessly at the architect of the trap. The ruins of Harold Minter's face echoed the malignant glint in his eyes. "That's really not very polite. We didn't get to finish our discussion with Ms. Lebow, and I think we may have a few questions to ask you, Ms. Vienh. At the very least, I would like to know who your real employer is."

"You'll never get what you want," Sarah snarled.

Faye jabbed back with her elbow - the last thing she wanted was to provoke things into an even worse situation than it was already. "You're mistaken. I rescued this woman from the explosion, and was trying to get away from a dangerous situation. Radek doesn't pay me enough to stay around things blowing up..."

"You're a liar, and probably an agent for one of the shadow agencies. CIA, MI5, KGB? Maybe even the Firm? All of them would be interested in this," Minter leered, motioning to his men to move in. "We'll find out soon enough."

"No you won't!" Sarah moved more quickly than Faye dreamt possible for a woman in her condition. She dashed to the nearest thug and bowled him over through sheer surprise, then ran to the plane. "Faye, get out of here. Now!" she shouted. The thug closest to her belatedly pulled out his gun and fired at her, while Faye took advantage of the confusion to grapple with the man next to her for his pistol. More shots cracked through the air as the rest of Minter's cadre recovered from their surprise, and bullets pinged off the plane. Faye succeeded finally in wrestling the gun from her target by way of a nasty maneuver which left him moaning on the ground, and turned to see that Sarah had successfully climbed onto the wing of the small plane. Sarah looked directly at her, and screamed, "RUN!" as she held out a small round object.

 _A grenade_ , Faye's inner voice said calmly. _More than one,_ seeing more round shapes held clutched tightly to Sarah's body with her other hand. _And she's laying directly on top of one of the plane's fuel tanks. She's right. I need to run_. She turned, started to sprint, and then the world exploded into a burning nightmare...

XXXXXXXX

"All to try to find the Lady?" Dom's voice was small, as he stared at Archangel with suspiciously bright eyes. "They targeted Sarah because of the Lady?" When Archangel gravely nodded confirmation, grief turned to anger. "I hope she got them all!"

"She did," Marella reassured him. "Zebra squad was thorough, and confirmed the death of Minter and five of the seven dealers we know of that were present for the 'auction' were also confirmed dead. The other two were apprehended trying to leave the country, and Steindorff is already en route to Israel for trial. Faye's explosions and the damage caused by the airplane was enough that no one will ever be able to use that particular base again."

"What about your agent?"

Archangel's face stiffened, and Marella swallowed, looking away. "The doctors are doing everything they can, but the burns and shrapnel from the explosion caused serious damage." Behind his calm facade, he cringed as Faye's burned, ruined face - _"I'm sorry, sir, I failed you," as a tear trailed down a bandaged cheek_ \- joined the legion in his nightmares, raked up by the nasal prompt of hospital smell. His hand tightened on his cane briefly as he willed away flashes of Red Star. "It is definite that she will never be able to work in the field again, but if she is willing and able, she will always have a job with me."

Dom nodded stiffly, awkwardly approving of Archangel's actions while fully aware that the man neither needed nor cared for his approval. "What do you want me to tell String?"

For one brief second, he saw past the facade of Archangel to the fatigue, the sorrow and the iron-willed sense of duty carried by Michael. Then, the mask slipped back into place, and Archangel regarded him with all of his usual arrogant confidence. "I'll leave that to your judgement. You know Hawke better than I - tell him however much you think necessary. You'll know when." He rose from his chair, and started to the door. "Good luck." With a nod of his head, he and Marella were out the door and away, leaving behind a thoughtful Santini.

"You didn't tell him everything," Marella said quietly, as they were driven away.

"I know." He met her accusatory stare with one of his own. "They don't need to know that one of the bidders was a DOD agent: we really don't need Hawke going after the Department of Defence." Archangel's face settled into cold, determined lines. "That's my job."

XXXXXXXX

The sun was sinking behind the tree-clad hills, and fatigue and cooling air were starting to make his fingers clumsy, but Stringfellow Hawke played the cello relentlessly as the memories hounded him.

 _"I'm not going to die."_

 _"Don't ever say that! And don't promise what you can't keep."_

 _"What woman died?"_

 _"All of them."_

The cool night deepened as the cello wept for broken promises.


End file.
